After a swift but stinging tongue lashing from Carlotta and Ysolda, Flynn was let off the hook. Carlotta backed out of the room with her fingers extending in the "I'm watching you" symbol as she closed the door behind her with narrowed eyes. Farkas looked between Flynn and the door for a long ten seconds before he turned to look at her fully, looking utterly bewildered.

"What…" Farkas scrunched his eyebrows together and gestured loosely towards the door, "was that about?"

Flynn frowned a little. She'd like to avoid discussing her shortcomings (which had been eloquently displayed by Ysolda).

"Nothing in particular." She settled on saying, leaning back in her chair and trying to mask her faint embarrassment.

"Like Oblivion!"

Dammit.

Farkas folded his arms and frowned. "Tell me what they were yelling at you about; all I caught was something about you running away to Riften, being a flake, and being a...something-something little bitch."

Flynn heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Put it this way; Carlotta gets a little indecipherable when she's mad. Ysolda, even more so."

"Indeciph-a-what?" Farkas tilted his head in confusion.

"Indecipherable." She corrected slowly, looking at Farkas with an odd expression for a long moment. He was an adult; shouldn't he know words like that? "...It means to be hard to understand, whether it be verbal or written. Like...uh, when someone's handwriting is terrible and you can't read it, their handwriting is indecipherable. In terms of writing, you can also say illegible or incomprehensible; they basically mean the same thing. If you're talking about speech, you can describe it as incomprehensible too."

Farkas blinked at her and frowned thoughtfully. Gazing at Farkas for a moment, Flynn was suddenly reminded of her days as a teacher in High Rock. He looked far too much like her Breton students, with his inquisitive face and probing eyes. His eyebrows scrunched together and he seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. Flynn clucked her tongue. Did Farkas understand what she was explaining? He looked as if he did, but she could tell he had questions.

"...You understand? Or do I need to explain again? It's fine if I have to."

Farkas shook himself and suddenly smiled. "No, I do get it! It's just- you made that so easy to understand."

"I did?"

Farkas's glowing, excited face made her heart flutter warmly in her chest. She'd taught him something! Gods, did she really miss being a teacher. She wished she hadn't had to leave.

"Yeah!" Farkas continued, running a hand through his hair. "Vilkas tries to explain things to me but he usually just makes it more confusing. Then he ends up just getting mad at me and tells me to shut up about it."

Flynn frowned. From the sound of it, Vilkas wasn't a very good teacher. Flynn didn't like this, not one bit. She rested the flat of her hand on her chin and propped herself up on her knee.

"Does he make it overly-complicated? As in, he uses advanced vocabulary that you don't understand to try to help you understand but ends up confusing you more?"

"Well, he does confuse me more when he makes it all wordy and doesn't explain a lot, but...advanced? Overly-complicated?"

"You don't read a lot, do you? It's fine, I'll help. Advanced means something like... someone has a bigger understanding of something than someone else might."

"Like...Tilma has an advanced knowledge of cooking?"

"You could use it like that, but it sounds a little weird, don't you think? Cooking is a pretty general skill. You'd use advanced for something more like; Eorlund has an advanced knowledge of smithing. If you wanted to say Tilma was good at cooking, you'd say that Tilma has a lot of skill in the kitchen."

Farkas's face brightened. "I get it!" His brows furrowed. "But...what is a general skill? Like, what counts as one?"

Flynn bit her lip. "That's a little difficult to explain. Think of it this way, I guess. If it's kind of like a household thing, like sweeping, cooking, mopping, dusting, and so on, it's probably general and you can just say they're good at the thing. But if it's something that takes years of practice, like gardening, smithing, alchemy, magic, and fighting skills, that's when you'd use advanced."

Farkas nodded and Flynn was confident that he grasped what she meant. He suddenly asked, "Gardening is an advanced skill?"

Flynn nodded. "It's a lot harder than it looks, trust me. I should know; I used to have a beautiful garden when I lived in Cyrodil. I had so many pretty flowers. I also grew food and a lot of herbs. I miss that garden." She sighed and looked away, thinking wistfully of her old garden. She'd spent so much time making it look absolutely gorgeous.

"Why did you ever leave it behind?"

A man's voice growling behind the door. "We know you're in there, Ishtar! Get out, now! You've been running long enough! You can't hide from us anymore!"

"I won't ever go back, and you can't make me!"

Flashes of light. Fear. Scratched hands. Screaming. My flowers, I worked so hard on them. They're all burnt. I loved those flowers. My herbs, my food. All of it is destroyed. Those monsters. My garden made me happy. Why can't I ever keep what keeps me happy? I won't forgive them. I won't go back. I won't go into the basement. I won't stay in the dark anymore. They can't make me. They won't make me!

One day, I'll make them pay!

Not yet, not yet.

Run.

Run.

Run, run, run...

A short thrill of fear shot up Flynn's spine and she floundered momentarily. "I...uh...I just had to leave. There was no real reason." That was nothing but a damned lie but if Farkas noticed, he didn't comment. Changing the subject, she said, "I actually have another garden in the works at my house, which is near Falkreath. The soil there is perfect for growing my favorite flower, which is incidentally in high demand for poison due to the civil war; Nightshade. I have about 18 bushes of it starting to grow. I'm growing a bunch of other stuff, but that's what I'm growing the most of right now."

Farkas frowned. "How do you take care of it?"

"I have my Housecarl tend to it when I'm away."

Farkas looked surprised. "You're a Thane?"

Oh, fuck. "Yeah. It's not a big deal. Let's not talk about that for now."

Farkas looked as if he had a million questions but asked none of them. "Skjor likes nightshade too." He began to play with his fingers. "He picks one of the flowers whenever we pass a bush of them whenever we do a job together."

"He does? Huh, that's nice. Most people don't like nightshade because, due to all it's poisonous qualities, it's seen as an evil flower. I think it's all nonsense."

"Yeah…"

Farkas and Flynn sat there for a long moment of pregnant silence.

"So…" Flynn twiddled with her thumbs. "I never explained what overly complicated meant?"

Farkas leaned forward. "Tell me."

"It basically means 'very complex', which is kind of like when someone asks you to do pick a flower but instructs you to pick off one particular petal, trim 3 centimeters and 4 extra millimeters from the stem, pluck off two leaves but keep just one there, dye one petal black and another red, take a knife and gentle peel the outer covering of the stem like you're peeling a carrot, and then they ask like four other things."

Farkas barked a laugh ('Dammit Flynn, don't make werewolf puns!') and waved his hand to quiet her. "I got it, I got it."

"Sure?"

"Positive. What does 'basically' mean?"

"If someone says 'basically' before explaining, they're doing the exact opposite of making it overly complicated."

"...They're telling you the simple, important parts!"

"Exactly! Good job!" Flynn praised, smiling at Farkas's beaming face.

"I actually get it. You're a really good teacher!''

"Thank you."

Flynn blew out a surprised breath. Farkas sure was picking up vocabulary fast. She'd overheard earlier that day in Jorrvaskr that Farkas wasn't a reader, to which someone had quipped it was because he couldn't understand half the words. She'd been offended on his behalf but Farkas had waved her off, saying words weren't really his thing anyway. Well, this little lesson she was giving him was saying otherwise; she was sure he could understand words if someone helped him. Maybe he could use someone that could just explain what words meant while he read.

Wait, that gave her an idea… "Hey, do you want to try something?"

"What is it?"

"I have multiple copies of some books, so if one copy gets damaged there's no real issue. What I was thinking is that maybe you could read one of them? Since I would have copies of any book I give you, you can underline the words you don't understand, and I'll explain."

Farkas gnawed on his lip. "I dunno...I'm really slow. You heard Njada yourself; I don't read because I can't even understand half the words."

"That's okay; not everyone can read as fast as a horse can run, can they? And you not understanding the words is why i want you to read; like I said, I'll explain the words you don't know. I want to help you understand them. I really don't mind. In the meantime, I'll find something else to do. Maybe I'll sew the holes shut on my cloak or something."

Farkas still looked hesitant, but he agreed anyway. "What should I read?"

Flynn hummed in thought. "Y'know...I think you might like Night Falls on Sentinel. It's one of my favorites. I have like, four copies of it. Having one been colored with charcoal won't be a problem."

Farkas nodded and waited for her to pull out a thin length of charcoal and a copy of the book.

"Now, underline any word you don't know. Don't be afraid; I won't laugh. We all have to start somewhere. Begin." Flynn instructed as she handed the book and charcoal to Farkas.

Farkas nodded again and began to read. Farkas hadn't been joking when he said he was slow; by the time he'd finished the book she'd finished sewing her cloak back to its former glory and had finished another book of her own (Fall of the Snow Prince was an awesome book). She didn't mind though; it was clear Farkas didn't read often, so he couldn't help it if he was slow anyway. He sheepishly handed the book to her and she took it from him, opening the book and beginning to read, noting where he'd underlined words.

No music played in the Nameless Tavern in Sentinel, and indeed there was very little sound except for discreet, cautious murmurs of conversation, the soft pad of the barmaid's feet on stone, and the delicate slurping of the regular patrons, tongues lapping at their flagons, eyes focused on nothing at all. If anyone were less otherwise occupied, the sight of the young Redguard woman in a fine black velvet cape might have aroused surprise. Even suspicion. As it were, the strange figure, out of place in an underground cellar so modest it had no sign, blended into the shadows.
"Are you Jomic?"
The stout, middle-aged man with a face older than his years looked up and nodded. He returned to his drink. The young woman took the seat next to him.
"My name is Haballa," she said and pulled out a small bag of gold, placing it next to his mug.
"Sure it be," snarled Jomic, and met her eyes again. "Who d'you want dead?"
She did not turn away, but merely asked, "Is it safe to talk here?"
"No one cares about nobody else's problems but their own here. You could take off your cuirass and dance bare-breasted on the table, and no one'd even spit," the man smiled. "So who d'you want dead?"
"No one, actually," said Haballa. "The truth is, I only want someone ... removed, for a while. Not harmed, you understand, and that's why I need a professional. You come highly recommended."
"Who you been talking to?" asked Jomic dully, returning to his drink.
"A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend."
"One of them friends don't know what he's talking about," grumbled the man. "I don't do that any more."

Haballa quietly took out another purse of gold and then another, placing them at the man's elbow. He looked at her for a moment and then poured the gold out and began counting. As he did, he asked, "Who d'you want removed?"
"Just a moment," smiled Haballa, shaking her head. "Before we talk details, I want to know that you're a professional, and you won't harm this person very much. And that you'll be discreet."
"You want discreet?" the man paused in his counting. "Awright, I'll tell you about an old job of mine. It's been - by Arkay, I can hardly believe it - more 'n twenty years, and no one but me's alive who had anything to do with the job. This is back afore the time of the War of Betony, remember that?"
"I was just a baby."
"'Course you was," Jomic smiled. "Everyone knows that King Lhotun had an older brother Greklith what died, right? And then he's got his older sister Aubki, what married that King fella in Daggerfall. But the truth's that he had two elder brothers."
"Really?" Haballa's eyes glistened with interest.
"No lie," he chuckled. "Weedy, feeble fella called Arthago, the King and Queen's first born. Anyhow, this prince was heir to the throne, which his parents wasn't too thrilled about, but then the Queen she squeezed out two more princes who looked a lot more fit. That's when me and my boys got hired on, to make it look like the first prince got took off by the Underking or some such story."
"I had no idea!" the young woman whispered.
"Of course you didn't, that's the point," Jomic shook his head. "Discretion, like you said. We bagged the boy, dropped him off deep in an old ruin, and that was that. No fuss. Just a couple fellas, a bag, and a club."
"That's what I'm interested in," said Haballa. "Technique. My... friend who needs to be taken away is weak also, like this Prince. What is the club for?"
"It's a tool. So many things what was better in the past ain't around no more, just 'cause people today prefer ease of use to what works right. Let me explain: there're seventy-one prime pain centers in an average fella's body. Elves and Khajiiti, being so sensitive and all, got three and four more respectively. Argonians and Sloads, almost as many at fifty-two and sixty-seven," Jomic used his short stubby finger to point out each region on Haballa's body. "Six in your forehead, two in your brow, two on your nose, seven in your throat, ten in your chest, nine in your abdomen, three on each arm, twelve in your groin, four in your favored leg, five in the other."
"That's sixty-three," replied Haballa.
"No, it's not," growled Jomic.
"Yes, it is," the young lady cried back, indignant that her mathematical skills were being question: "Six plus two plus two plus seven plus ten plus nine plus three for one arm and three for the other plus twelve plus four plus five. Sixty-three."
"I must've left some out," shrugged Jomic. "The important thing is that to become skilled with a staff or club, you gotta be a master of these pain centers. Done right, a light tap could kill, or knock out without so much as a bruise."
"Fascinating," smiled Haballa. "And no one ever found out?"
"Why would they? The boy's parents, the King and Queen, they're both dead now. The other children always thought their brother got carried off by the Underking. That's what everyone thinks. And all my partners are dead."
"Of natural causes?"
"Ain't nothing natural that ever happens in the Bay, you know that. One fella got sucked up by one of them Selenu. Another died a that same plague that took the Queen and Prince Greklith. 'Nother fella got hisself beat up to death by a burglar. You gotta keep low, outta sight, like me, if you wanna stay alive." Jomic finished counting the coins. "You must want this fella out of the way bad. Who is it?"
"It's better if I show you," said Haballa, standing up. Without a look back, she strode out of the Nameless Tavern.
Jomic drained his beer and went out. The night was cool with an unrestrained wind surging off the water of the Iliac Bay, sending leaves flying like whirling shards. Haballa stepped out of the alleyway next to the tavern, and gestured to him. As he approached her, the breeze blew open her cape, revealing the armor beneath and the crest of the King of Sentinel.
The fat man stepped back to flee, but she was too fast. In a blur, he found himself in the alley on his back, the woman's knee pressed firmly against his throat.
"The King has spent years since he took the throne looking for you and your collaborators, Jomic. His instructions to me what to do when I found you were not specific, but you've given me an idea."
From her belt, Haballa removed a small sturdy cudgel.
A drunk stumbling out of the bar heard a whimpered moan accompanied by a soft whisper coming from the darkness of the alley: "Let's keep better count this time. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven..."

Flynn nodded at all the underlined words, noting with a little pride that he hadn't underlined a lot of the words she was expecting him too. "Alright, you've got," She fingered them as she went along, "discreet, murmurs, delicate, lapping, aroused, modest, stout, dully, glistened, weedy, feeble, discretion, prime, stubby, indignant, mathematical, unrestrained, surging, whirling, and collaborators."

"I kind of understand some of the words mean." Farkas shrugged meekly, pointing at the book.

"And what words are those?"

"Feeble, discreet, lapping, and collaborators. I know aroused and weedy, but the way they were used kind of confused me." Farkas admitted sheepishly.

"Ah. I know what you probably think aroused and weedy mean; and you're not wrong! But, the words were used in different contexts, changing what they mean."

"What do they mean, then? I know weedy is describing a place full of weeds, and aroused means...uh…."

Flynn barked a short laugh. "I know. Aroused, in this context, means to evoke-er, awaken- emotions and things of the like. Not to excite someone sexually." She purposefully stressed the second definition of aroused to make Farkas blush. "Weedy can be a adjective to describe a weedy place, yes, but in this context it's used to describe the prince as someone who appears thin and physically weak. Frail, even."

"Oh." Farkas simply said. "That makes sense. Then feeble means something close to that? Weak?"

"Exactly!" Flynn smiled brightly. "You're very smart, Farkas."

Farkas blushed bright red to the tips of his ears and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side. "I am?"

Flynn's smile lessened slightly, recognizing Farkas's lack of confidence in his own abilities immediately. She'd seen it many times before in her frustrated students. Not to mention that the feeling was sadly familiar to her as well.

"Of course you are." She replied softly. "You...aren't told that a lot, are you?"

Farkas meekly shook his head. "Everyone always calls me icebrain and crap like that. I don't usually mind it but it kind of stings sometimes, y'know?" Farkas sighed, shifting his leg restlessly. "I act like it doesn't bother me when Aela or Vilkas say I'm dumb but...:" Farkas paused before he sighed and said, "Ugh, forget it. I dunno why I'm even telling you this."

Flynn narrowed her eyes slightly. She wouldn't pester him about this whole "icebrain" business just yet since he was obviously a little upset, but she'd bring it back up later for damn sure.

"Well, I think you're very bright, and honestly? Fuck anyone who says otherwise." She said resolutely, leaning back in her chair. "In fact, I don't think I've ever seen a student pick up vocabulary so quickly." Flynn was glad to see a beautiful smile stretch across Farkas's face as she spoke.

Farkas looked as if he were glowing. "Thank you, Flynn." He said warmly. "Now...the definitions of the other words?"

"Of course."

They continued back and forth throughout the night. Farkas asked as many questions as he could think of and Flynn answered them as best as she could. She ended up teaching him around twenty other vocab words, showing him basic grammar, how to write legibly, and how to write understandable sentences. She was surprised to see how fast Farkas picked up on how to apply the vocabulary words in sentences. In fact, she was amazed that he was picking everything up so quickly. It took him a little longer to get it, but once he did he didn't ask any more questions and he just...he knew it! Simple as that. She expressed her amazement of Farkas's speed to him, which he was bashful about, saying that he'd only ever been slow, but Flynn explained to him that he wasn't slow, and he just needed a little extra help and that there was nothing wrong with it- she'd had a lot of students like him in the past. He was surprised to learn she'd been a teacher, and she wistfully recounted her days as a teacher to Farkas after she deemed that he'd learned enough for the night.

She somehow ended up telling Farkas about the things she'd done in all the countries, telling him that Skyrim had been the only country she hadn't been to before she'd moved and that it was her by far her favorite. She told him about a few of her adventures and how almost everywhere had pretty much been ticking danger bombs she'd had to defuse, recounting her time in Ansilvund and Lu'ah Al-Skaven with glee. She was in the middle of reminiscing about her time in Elsweyr, telling Farkas about how it'd changed since the second era and her time as a barmaid in Mistral at The Boatman's Tail when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in?" She called, quirking an eyebrow at Farkas.

Hulda, the Innkeeper, stepped inside the room and looked between Flynn and Farkas before eying the parchment, ink, quills, charcoal, and books strewn about the room in mild confusion.

"Did you need something, miss?"

Flynn's call seemed to break Hulda from her stupor and she straightened herself before she asked, "I've been hearing you two talking all night. What're you two still doing up? Normally I wouldn't intrude but might I ask what's been keeping you both up until dawn?"

Flynn and Farkas both sputtered.

"It's fucking what now?!" Flynn flew to her feet and knocked over books and stray charcoal sticks in her haste to get to window and peer outside.

She threw aside the curtains and sure enough, bright sunlight streamed into the room.

Flynn looked back at Farkas, who burst into surprised laughter. "Holy shit, I've been here all night!"

Flynn laughed lightly, running a hand through her mussed braid. "No shit! You got here a little after dusk and it's what, seven or eight in the morning? How in the name of Oblivion did we not conk out?"

As if on cue, Farkas yawned. "I dunno, but now that I know how long I've been up, the tiredness is hitting me like four bottles of ale at once." He stretched his back and closed his eyes for a moment before they snapped open and he sat bolt upright. "SHIT!" He yelled, leaping to his feet.

Hulda jumped at his sudden outburst. "What the matter?"

Farkas scrambled around the room and he hurriedly yanked on his boots. "My brother, that's what! Oh, gods, he's probably having a heart attack by now!" Farkas slapped his own cheeks. "Ever since the-" His eyes snapped to Hulda, and then to Flynn, "the thing, he's been all protective over me!"

That made sense. "Holy shit, he's probably having an aneurysm." Flynn sucked a breath in through her teeth as she hurriedly helped Farkas gather his belongings. "He'll yell at you, won't he?"

Farkas nodded.

"I'll walk you back and explain. You just go straight to bed, I'll take the heat."

Farkas frowned at her through a stifled yawn. "Flynn, you don't have to do that."

"Ah, it's my fault anyway. C'mon, you got your stuff?"

Farkas bent over and grabbed his coat before he backtracked and brushed his fingers over Night Falls on Sentinel. "Do you...mind if I take this?"

"Of course not, you can keep it. Let's get you back home." Flynn looked at Hulda, who was still standing by the door with a slightly baffled expression. "Thank you, miss. Sorry if we kept you up."

Hulda waved her hand. "It's alright. All I could hear was muffled sound coming from here, nothing disruptive."

"Alright, good. Sorry about this mess, I'll clean it up before I leave."
"Make sure of it. And, I'd hurry back to Jorrvaskr if I were you; someone who looks suspiciously like him burst into here a couple hours ago in a panic. His brother, I think." With that, Hulda turned heel and strode back down the hall.
Flynn exchanged a look with Farkas before she tugged him down the hallway. She held the Inn's door open for him and shivered slightly as a cold breeze swept past her. Gods, it was chilly, even for Skyrim. She was glad Farkas had his coat. She let Farkas pass her and strode into the marketplace, waving to Fralia as she walked past the kindly woman's stall. She lead Farkas up to Jorrvaskr and dodged Mila as she came running from out of nowhere, ruffling the girl's hair as she passed. Smiling at Farkas, she opened one of the doors to Jorrvaskr and nearly laughed at the sight of the Circle gathered around the big table, muttering amongst each other worriedly.

"Where could he be?! I searched all over the city!" Vilkas cried, slamming his fist on the table. "Dammit, he could be dead!"

"Vilkas, I think you're overreacting. I'm sure he's fine. He probably just got distracted by something pretty." Skjor attempted to placate Vilkas, but his balled fists and concerned frown did little to mask his own worry.

Flynn cleared her throat and the Circle's heads all collectively swivelled to look at her, and subsequently Farkas. Vilkas looked at Farkas for all of two seconds before he leapt to his feet and stormed towards Farkas, his face twisting in fury. Before he could even yell, Flynn swept forward and covered his mouth with her hand, stopping him from whatever he was going to do to Farkas in the process.

"Shush." She simply said, before she pushed Farkas inside. "Go to bed, Farkas- Vilkas, stop biting my hand, you lunatic -I'll see you later. Try to get a little sleep."

Farkas laughed a little at his furious twin before he side-stepped around Vilkas and trotted to the living quarters before he could be bombarded with any questions. Flynn smiled softly as she heard the door close before she finally released Vilkas, who immediately rounded on her.

"Where in the name of Oblivion has my brother been, you heinous bitch! Tell me right now, or I swear I'll-!" Skjor placed a hand on Vilkas's shoulder, silencing the man.

"Calm yourself, Vilkas. See? Your brother is fine." Skjor muttered lowly, before he looked to Flynn. "I'd like an explanation as to why you're returning Farkas at this hour."

"He came to see me in my Inn room to personally thank me for my help in the past. As we were chatting, my friends came by to chastise me for ditching them. One of them said a word he didn't understand, so I explained it to him. Somehow this spiralled into me teaching him a bunch of new stuff, like vocab words and how to spell and shit like that. We got a little carried away." She explained as she shrugged indifferently, choosing to omit how she'd told him stories too.

"I don't believe that for a damned minute!" Vilkas spat, slapping away Skjor's hand. "What were you really doing, huh!? Answer me, dammit!"

"I'm telling the truth. Go ask your brother when he's conscious. That does not mean wake him up, though."

"He's not asleep yet!" Vilkas whirled and marched purposefully towards the living quarters before he was stopped by Aela grabbing the back of his tunic.

Aela eyed Flynn and then Vilkas before she sighed like a tired mother who was holding back her stupid child so they wouldn't do something idiotic. "Vilkas, shut up. She's telling the truth. Leave your damned brother alone."

Vilkas briefly looked like he was about to reach over and rip a supporting beam off of the railing and beat someone with it, but instead he sighed and fell silent. Flynn still felt the inward need to move him away from the stairs though; he was unnerving close to the railing and with every passing second it seemed even more likely that he might actually do what it looked like he might, even if he outwardly looked calm. Aela cautiously let go of Vilkas's tunic and he looked between all of the Circle, and cast a lingering dark look at Flynn before he stormed outside, slamming the door in his wake. Kodlak sighed, shaking his head at the closed door.

Skjor nudged Kodlak's side. "How long do you think he's going to sulk for?"

"Twenty septims on until late afternoon." Kodlak elbowed Skjor's side in response.

"Thirty says that he'll sulk until the evening."

"You're on."

Flynn looked at Skjor, and then Kodlak, and said, "If you're betting on how long he'll have his panties in a twist, is it crass of me to assume that he's a dramatic little bitch?"

Aela burst into surprised laughter and exchanged an amused but incredulous look with Skjor. Speaking of Skjor, the man was trying and failing to not laugh as well and stifled it behind his hand, leaning forward to hide his grin before he ultimately broke and burst into raucous laughter. Kodlak was in the same predicament as Skjor but held on markedly well, only letting out stifled chuckles through his clenched fist. If she didn't know better, Flynn would think he was simply coughing.

Aela stumbled forward and clapped a strong hand on Flynn's shoulder, "Oh, I can tell that he's going to love you." She gasped out through snorting laughs. "You'll fit in here just fine. Welcome home, sister."

Skjor pinched his brow. "Shor's bones, you can't just say shit like that, Flynnigan." His wide grin that was partially hidden by his bowed head betrayed his somewhat harsh words.

Kodlak ignored Skjor and turned to Aela. "Aela, she hasn't joined us yet." Kodlak leaned tiredly against the table, his mirth dying away slowly.

Aela looked surprised to hear this, and turned to Flynn. "What are you waiting for, then?"

Flynn went to say that she wasn't going to join, but paused. Farkas had all but begged her to join...and she had told him yes. She'd meant it too. She was having second thoughts and yet…

"I initially was going to give Kodlak an answer on whether or not I would stay this afternoon, but after my night with Farkas, I think I'll stick around." Flynn paused. How could she explain why she'd stay without giving away her affection for Farkas? Letting everyone know how attached she'd already gotten to him would be embarrassing. "...From the stories he's shared, this place seems alright." She said lamely.

Aela quirked a coy eyebrow. "I'm glad to hear that you're staying, but the way you worded part of that statement was a little odd. What kind of night did you have with him, exactly?"

Aela's sultry face gave away what she was implying, so Flynn shoved her gently. "You heard me. I was teaching him crap. I mean, we also swapped stories, but generally it was just me teaching him."

"You really were teaching him, then?" Skjor frowned disbelievingly as he shifted his weight onto one leg.

"No, clearly I was sucking the life out of his dick." Flynn said flatly, inwardly smirking at their startled expressions in the face of her bluntness. "Yes, I really was teaching him."

Skjor shook himself. "Doing the Divine's work right there, Flynnigan." Skjor huffed a laugh as he squeezed Flynn's shoulder. "Boy's called Ice-brain for a reason. How frustrating was it?"

Oh, fuck no.

Flynn batted Skjor's hand away, feeling her face twist in muted fury. "He was perfectly fine, for your information! He's not stupid, not in the slightest! Why, I don't think I've ever had a student pick things up so quickly! It just takes him a little longer to get it, but once he does, he knows it! You're all just terrible teachers!" She crossed her arms tightly and pursed her lips, glaring at Skjor with as much spite as she could muster to get her point across.

Skjor raised a gray eyebrow at her insistence and frowned softly. "Really? He understood?"

"Yes." Flynn bit out. "In fact, he even commented on how easy it was to understand me. He said you all, especially Vilkas, always make things too complicated and you confuse him more. Poor man's been struggling with basic literary skills and I taught him a shitload of things in one night."

"Well, I'll be damned." Aela blew out a long breath. "What're you going to shock us with next? Has he finally picked up a book too?"

Flynn felt her eye twitch. "He likes Night Falls on Sentinel. He thought the plot-twist at the end was a huge surprise and he pointed out the foreshadowing when he read it again." She said curtly, tightening her arms.

The mead hall was silent for a long moment. It seemed that no one was even breathing.

It was Kodlak who broke the silence first. "Well, there's something I never thought I'd hear. By Ysgramor, what've you done to the boy?" Kodlak chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Truly remarkable. I suppose I shouldn't be shocked; the past day was full of surprises, and you were the source of them all. I digress, though. Well, if he's as bright as you say, keep teaching him. Boy could use it." Kodlak pushed himself up from the great table, patting a shell-shocked Skjor on the shoulder. "Come, old friend. It has been a long night; it's time to rest, even if it's morning now. I suppose the whelps could use a day off, huh? Come along too, Aela."

Aela stared at Flynn in utter wonder for a long moment before she followed behind Skjor. Flynn bid the three Circle members good night and stood there alone for a long moment, unsure of what to do with herself. The eyed the door that Vilkas had stormed out of and frowned. He sure was a moody person. Still, Farkas seemed to care about him deeply, so she'd hold her tongue around him as best as she could. She was, in a roundabout way, pleased to see Vilkas acting so vibrant, so alive. Sure, he was being a dick, but it was a far cry from the broken man she'd healed in Fellglow. It made her happy to know he was doing alright, even if he was outside sulking in the midst of a...freezing morning. While wearing a thin tunic and no shoes, if she remembered correctly. Probably lowering his immune system defenses because he was too exposed to the cold air. And was probably going to get the Rattles if she didn't drag his ass inside since she didn't spend three days healing his stupid ass just for him to get downed by the Rattles for a week or two.

Pursing her lips, she narrowed her eyes and strode outside. Vilkas was sitting on a chair and burning a hole through a table with his eyes. He turned to see who'd come outside and glared viciously at her as she walk towards him.

"What the fuck do you want-" She grabbed his wrist and dragged him to his feet. "Hey! Get off of me!" He slapped at her wrist very hard in an effort to make her reflexively open her hand, but she resisted and yanked him inside.

She all but threw him through the door and closed it behind her, affixing a stern glare at him. "Stay inside. It's cold as Atmora outside and you're not even wearing shoes."

"Like Oblivion! I'm a Nord, you stupid Redguard!"

Flynn kicked him as gently as she could without it looking like she was trying to be gentle and pressed her back against the door, crossing her arms resolutely. "Uh-huh, that's nice. Nords can still get the damned Rattles if they sulk outside clad only in a thin tunic in the middle of Evening Star!"

"I was not sulking!"

"Yeah, and I'm not a Redguard!" Flynn scowled. "Go sit by the damned fire, you stupid oaf."

"Who are you calling a stupid oaf?!" Vilkas leapt to his feet and shoved Flynn's chest, making her head bonk against the door.

Flynn made a show of looking around the mead hall, noting the other Companions who were staring at them curiously from the stairs. "Oh, I dunno. Maybe I'm calling the only idiot who's in front of me a stupid oaf!"

"Why, you little-!"

"Little?!" Flynn cut him off. "Who are you calling little?! You're the one who only comes up to my tits!"

Vilkas stopped short for a second before he said, "And those are what I'm calling little."

Without even blinking, Flynn swung a devastating punch towards Vilkas's head. Her fist collided with the side of his skull, and her knuckles made an ungodly cracking noise before immediately exploding with pain. Vilkas stumbled to the side and swayed for all of three seconds before he toppled over, out-cold. She heard a small "Oh shit" come from one of the girls who was watching everything go down by the stairs. She stared at his crumpled body and without missing a beat, she leaned over and slung Vilkas over her shoulder. Sighing, she performed a healing spell on her broken hand and on Vilkas's head before she strode towards the living quarters.

"You." She looked sharply at one of the girls, who squeaked in terror. "Lead me to this idiot's room. I think wittle Wilkas can use a nap." She mocked.

"I think he's already taking one." A blond man slurred, leaning against the wall casually, to which his buddies looked at him like he was insane.

Flynn stared at him for a long moment and he held his hands up in surrender, walking up the stairs. She watched him walk upstairs and ignored the sound of the living quarters door opening until she heard Farkas gasp.

"What happened?!" He cried, his hands hovering over his brother.

Flynn frowned. "You should be asleep."

"I know that, but I heard yelling and- Ysgramor's axe, hold him upright! His blood's going to his face!"

Flynn sighed and rotated Vilkas in her arms, shushing him as he let out a disoriented groan and shifted. She settled him in a bridal style hold and quirked a stern eyebrow at Farkas.

"Go back to bed, Farkas."

"Uh, no? What happened to my brother?"

"He's fine." Flynn reassured Farkas, rocking Vilkas gently to hopefully make him actually fall asleep since knockout induced sleep was not the same thing. "I healed him after I knocked him out."

Farkas looked like he had a million questions and held out his hands in a "what the fuck" gesture. "Why did you knock him out!?"

"He said my boobs were small."

Farkas opened and closed his mouth like a fish, completely at a loss for words, and looked to the other Companions for confirmation. The two girls nodded, and the dark elf said,

"He was kind of being a dick. She brought him inside because it's cold out and she was worried he'd catch the Rattles, and he just went off on her."

One of the girls, who was wearing a helmet, nodded. "She all but threw him inside and told him to get warm by the fire. He called her a stupid Redguard and she basically told him to go fuck himself. Wish I had the balls to do that." She snorted before she strode back upstairs.

The other girl sheepishly supplied, "It was less of "go fuck yourself" and more of her just responding to his insults with meaner ones. He started it, though."

Farkas looked helplessly between Vilkas and Flynn before he sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm too tired for this crap. Come on, just get him into bed before he wakes up and tries to kill you. And, for the record, don't assault your Shield-Siblings, okay? Not cool, even if he did start it."

Flynn rolled her eyes but hummed an "mhm" anyway, following Farkas into the living quarters. She raised her eyebrows in greeting to Tilma, who peered at Vilkas curiously but said nothing. She trailed after Farkas to Vilkas's room, bending over slightly so she wouldn't hit her head on the chandelier. She laid him on his bed and turned to Farkas.

"Go back to sleep, Farkas. Look, he's alright." She gestured loosely to Vilkas's prone body.

"I will," Farkas sighed, "just...you saved his life. You took the time to heal him and return him to us. Don't kill him and waste your effort, yeah? I know he's kind of an asshole, but I promise he's a good person."

"You're acting like we just got into a huge, world-shattering fight that ended in tears and words we didn't mean. He just called my boobs small."

Farkas shook his head. "I know, it's just…" Farkas frowned at his brother. "If it wasn't for me, he would've fallen out with a lot of people. I know this was small, but this could just spiral into a bigger fight later. So, I'm telling you now, don't...don't…"

"Don't...take it so seriously, because deep down he probably cares?" Flynn supplied cautiously.

Farkas blew out a breath and laughed quietly. "Yeah, exactly."

Flynn nodded slowly, before squeezing Farkas's shoulder. "Off to bed with you, now."

Farkas elbowed her side softly in response. "Will do." He left the room and Flynn waited until she heard a door close before she padded to Vilkas's bedside.

She eased herself into the chair next to him and studied his face for a minute. He breathed softly and evenly, his left cheek smushed against his pillow. He looked...positively adorable. She let her shoulders relax and she felt her face soften. It was really weird of her, but she did like watching people sleep. It was nice to see someone look so utterly relaxed. She frowned at herself. Ugh, it was like she had a non-sexual kink for sleeping people. Letting the thought go, she sighed softly and reached towards Vilkas's face. She let her palm rest against his right cheek, and ever so slowly, she brushed the hair from his face. And there was a scar. A white, old-looking scar that she knew was not old running down his eye. She thumbed the scar, feeling a strange sense of sadness wash over her.

And suddenly, she could not see the Vilkas that was sleeping in his bed, safe and sound. All she could see was the terrified Vilkas, the one who was curled in a ball, shaking like a leaf in front of her. All she could see was him screaming himself awake, and all she could see was his distraught, delirious face as he sobbed his heart out after a feverish nightmare. She could almost hear an echo of herself soothing him with meaningless sweet words and shushes, and she could almost feel her hand comfortingly sifting through his soft hair. Her fingers curled into a fist, and she pulled herself away from him. Vilkas was fine. He was safe with his family. And yet...

The scar on his face was a reminder. A reminder of everything that had happened to him. He'd wake up every morning, he'd look in the mirror, and he'd think of Fellglow. He'd think of the days rotting in a cell as he hoped that someone would save him. He'd think of how he could not save himself, and hate himself for it. He'd think of what those awful mages had done to him. And he'd think of the kindly dark-skinned woman who saved him, who held him through his hazy days of sickness, and he'd wonder who she was. He'd wonder why she'd bothered. And he'd touch the scar on his face and wonder, after all she had done, why the scar had been left behind.

And to her, the scar on his face was a reminder. A reminder of a patient she hadn't healed all the way because she wasn't good enough. A reminder that she couldn't save him in time to stop the suffering. A reminder that she couldn't save everyone, no matter how hard she tried. A reminder that she could try as hard as she wanted, but she'd always fail someone like she'd almost failed him. If she had found him earlier, even minutes earlier, she could have kept the scar from marring his face. If she had found him minutes later, he could be dead. But she found him when she had, and that would have to be enough. She'd saved him as well as she could have, though she should've been able to do more.

She closed her eyes.

She knew that every day she spent in Jorrvaskr, until the day she died, she'd see the scar on his face and she'd hate it.

It broke her heart to know he'd feel the same.

She reached forward once again and tucked his hair behind his ear, and almost as an after-thought, she bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Right where she'd punched him. Now that it was all said and done, she was kind of ashamed of herself. It was no matter though; it was done, and she couldn't change it. All she could do was make it up to him. Subtly though, because she wasn't going to apologize directly. He'd probably hit her or something.

"Sorry." She whispered to him anyway.

She reached over and pulled Vilkas's blanket over him properly, and laid a hand on his head for a long moment. She stood there and after a heartbeat, she cast a calming spell on him to help him sleep. Sighing at herself, she rose from her chair and tip-toed out of the room, and closed the door softly.

Vilkas sat up in bed and stared at the door for very, very long moment. He closed his eyes, and laid back down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling, feeling oddly calm...and he wondered.

Flynn ducked into the Inn and strode to her room. She chucked the remnants of her night with Farkas into her bag and flopped on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was odd. She'd been up all night, she hadn't slept. She'd last slept the previous day and woken up to the early morning. She'd actually gone over twenty-four hours without sleep, and yet...she didn't feel tired at all. Now that she thought about it, she did this kind of thing a lot. She would just stay awake for no damn reason, even if she was tired. Eventually she'd just pass out without even realizing it.

Like…

Like she'd already done.

Vaguely, she was aware that she'd fallen asleep, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The mattress was so soft, so comfortable, she felt like she could just let it swallow her and be fine with it. She sank lower and lower into the soft material, until she'd gone all the way through. She was on the floor. She'd fallen through the bed. She scowled. She wanted to lay on the bed. She stood up and looked around. She wasn't in the Inn anymore, it was dark. She looked around for the...what was she looking for? She had to go, she had to go defeat-

Her body screamed and burned. Her head throbbed. No, no, no.

"Zu'u fen ni oblaan!"

The grass was soft. She liked grass. It was soft against her knees and she sat there in the middle of the garden. Her garden. By the gods, she loved her garden. The sweet scent of dragon tongues, mountain flowers, nightshade flowers, deathbells, and juniper wafted in the air, mixed with other flowers and fauna she could not pinpoint. She looked around and smiled. The flowers were in bloom, ready for harvesting and pruning. She stood, and white fabric tumbled down to her lower knees. She was wearing a dress. It was a pretty dress. She closed her eyes and sighed. She was at peace.

And she was not.

She opened her eyes, and everything was burnt. The scent of the flowers was gone. Her flowers were gone, burnt to little more than ash. It was ruined, all of it was ruined. Her dress was torn and charred, stained black with soot. Smoke hung in the air, the stench of it cloying. Anger boiled in her chest. She had been happy.

She would not forgive them.

The world burned.

You, there. Step forward. Who...are you?

The grass was burning; she was burning. She was not wearing a dress anymore. She could not speak, there was something in her mouth. There was a scared man with greasy, mousey brown hair and skittish, black eyes. He was sobbing. There was a man with hair spun of the finest of gold, gagged too. He looked pensive. He looked resigned. There was a man with kind blue eyes who spoke somewhat cheerfully despite future promises of nothing good.

There was an Imperial man driving the cart. She knew him. Her chest burned. She hated him.

She punched the back of his head, and her hands were bound behind her back this time.

Glowing, red eyes. Wings dark as night. Teeth that glinted like blades.

Zu'u fen ni oblaan!

She was afraid. There was fire, so much fire. So much blood. So many scared people. She lead as many as she could away. She had to save them. She saved them.

A woman with kind, dark eyes, and hair the color of ebony. She had a boy strapped to her hip, who had a bright smile. Another woman with dirty blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes. A crooked grin. A man with sandy brown hair and soft, hazel eyes that spoke of sorrow within.

She loved them all.

She took her first step into freedom.

She was alive.

I know you probably aren't interested, but we would be honored to have you as a Companion.

There is a building that looks like an upturned boat. That's essentially what is it, and she thinks it's silly. There is a man with flowing white hair and a gravelly voice, bent over a fiery forge with sweat dripping down his arms. He loves her.

There is a man with a blind eye and a victorious smile. His voice is smooth and kind, though he keeps it hardened to hide his soft heart. He loves her.

There is a man with a fruity voice and a sad smile. His eyes are old and his heart longs for what he feels he is unworthy of. By the gods, he loves her.

There are two men with hair dark as night and eyes two jagged shards of ice. They are both brilliant in their own ways, and very near and dear to her heart. They love her.

There is a woman with blazing, red hair and vibrant, green warpaint. Her grin is crooked and savage, and though she is detached she could not be more warm. She loves her.

And then there are two boys that she loves like they are her own. One is short, thin, with dark hair. The other is tall, muscular, with sandy hair. They have similar crooked grins. They love her.

She looks around and she smiles.

For the first time in her life, she belongs.

And that's when it all changes. The sad-smiling man with old eyes is dead, and her heart weeps like it has never done before. She curses him for leaving her. And there is a book, bound by well-worn leather. She reads.

You are someone worth saving, Ishtar. Keep smiling.

She sobs instead.

And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see, and when the world remembers...
That world shall cease to be.

Melancholy clings to her, she cannot breathe through her own pain. Time does not seem to touch her. She does not eat, drink, nor sleep and yet she lives. She feels like she is dying, but she is not. There is a soft, loving face and warm, red eyes.

"Eat something, sweetpea."

She eats, and smiles around the venison. Somehow, he knew it was her favorite. She is thankful for him. She takes another bite, and he smiles. He is happy to see that she is healing.

There is a man, with a shaved head and strong arms. His hands are rough and powerful. His words are confident and sweet. Though he is kind, his heart is guarded. He is afraid of love. He is sad about something he speaks not of. His eyes are warm, his lips are soft.

She loves him. He does not love her.

Another scar.

The world is singing, the world is bright. She loves the world, the world loves her. The wind plays with her hair, the dark strands flutter serenely in the air. The grass is tickling her, whispering meaningless words. The world is singing, and suddenly she is crying.

Everything hurts. Everything is black, she cannot breathe.

Please, Gods, let me die. I don't need this. I never wanted this. Let me be happy. I can't do this anymore.

The book bound in well-worn leather is open next to her.

You are someone worth saving, Ishtar. Keep smiling.

Her heart aches.

I need to fight. He's watching me. I can do this, I know I can. I can't leave the world to die.

She stands. Everything is golden. Herself. She is glowing. Her whole being is trembling with her own power. She is alive. She would not die like this. Not now, not ever. She will be the savior once more. She rises, and for the first time she sees him afraid. A brilliant, golden flash of light. A disembodied voice began to scream, roaring in anger. The blackness is flung away, and so is she. She is hurtling in the air, crashing through layers upon layer of magic. Everything is burning, she is screaming. She will not die. Her sight is blurry, her eyes are watering. The world comes into focus, and it's coming closer. Too close, too fast.

She lands, and the world explodes.

Her hair is white.

She is at peace.

There is no solace in knowing what is to come.

She is home.

There is a man with fluttering, gray hair and an excited smile. He is so happy, it's almost blinding. He is very kind; she likes him almost immediately. He begs her to come with him, and she does. There is magic, so much magic. She throws herself into it. Everyone watches in awe. More talented than Shalidor, some whisper.

There is another man, an orc with fading hair and a grumpy face. He is very stern, but she knows he means the best. He does not act like it, but he cares very much about her. She is one of the only students he likes, she overhears. She smiles. She likes him too.

Trouble begins to brew. Why does it follow her everywhere?

She is looking into shimmering, blue light. A voice is speaking, it is everywhere and nowhere at once. The voice is slow and deliberate. It has a strange sense of sorrow surrounding it. She feels upset. You are magic, Ishtar Alanis, the world bends to you, He says.

She wants to cry.

She leaves in the night in search of something.

Her eyes are soft and loving. Her hair is spun of soft grasses, colored like the reeds in rivers. Her face is tense, yet gentle. Her words are born of love, she is the brilliant sun. She is sad, but so, so brilliant. Her skin is freckled and smooth. It is a beautiful bronze. She is so beautiful, on the outside and on the inside.

She loves the woman. The woman does not love her.

Another scar.

She's in a crypt, and he's there. He looks sad. I'm sorry I couldn't help you. She has a staff. Why am I using a staff? I don't even like staffs. A pair of crazed eyes, crackling light. Everything is bright, it's too bright. Stone is floating in the air, twirling forlornly in the air. The world is tearing at the very seams. Everything hurts. I won't let you do this! Bright, bright light. Loud. It's so loud. She's flying, she lands. It hurts, it all hurts. She needs to know. Is everyone okay? Is the man with the excited smile okay? She needs to make sure he's okay before she-

Sleep well?

It smells sickly sweet, and it smells of rot. The smell of death.She'll hurt my family. I have to do this, I have to protect them until I'm sure. She hates it here. She hates herself. Everything is burning again. Please, let her keep them safe. Can't she do anything right?

Everyone is hiding somewhere safe, supposedly dead yet still alive. She says she is sorry, that it will be alright. She is not sure that she believes her own words. She is crying, clinging to a boy not yet a man clad in Imperial armor that she does not recognize.

"I'm sorry." She sobs. "I'm so, so sorry. If I could change things, I would, but I can't. Not yet."

There is a woman with short, dark hair and a beautiful heart. Her hands are soft and small, her skin is smooth and soft. She has a smattering of freckles on her face and a thin line of blue paint streaked across her cheeks. Her eyelashes are soft and long. She is sad, she is broken. She picks up the pieces, falling in love with every one of them, and puts the woman back together.

She loves the woman. The woman does not love her.

Another scar.

Her hands are shaking. The Emperor is dead, but he is not. It was a lie. A man stands before her, holding back tears. They trickle down his cheeks anyway.

She wipes them away with four words.

"Your son is alive." She tells him, and grabs his hand.

She shows him the truth. Her heart aches at the joy on their faces.

The cave is burning, the smoke is cloying. She is going to die. She does not.

She is sorry. She is dead.

Goodbye, Darkness.

It is not over.

"And once again, I prove Commander Maro the fool."

Why can't it be over?

She is sorry, she is so, so sorry.

"Keep Tamriel safe for me, n̡̧r̛͢҉o͠͝b͝ǹ̷͡o̶̢͢͏̷g͏a̸̶͢͟͢r̵̛d̶̕͝"

It's a promise she intends to keep. It's over.

It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself.

Soft, red hair. A chiseled chin she's held before. She knows him, she does not. A boy with matted hair with sad, brown eyes. He is crying. She saves him. She bathes him, clothes him, cuts his hair. She kisses his tears away and heals his broken heart. He looks like someone she knows. She takes him under her wing. He is the night.

There is another with sad brown eyes. His hair is not matted, though it is a mess. He has an angry heart that she soothes. His beard is small, shaved clean. His mouth is crass yet soft, his heart is cold yet warm. He is mean, rude. He is soft, kind. He is beautiful. He shares his secrets to her, she shares hers. They are close.

She loves him. He does not love her.

Another scar.

She will not die. She will not die. Not like this, not ever. She has to keep living, she has to! She can't move. For the first time in a long time, she is afraid.

She is safe. A kind, soft face, and warm, red eyes.

"Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly. How are you feeling?"

She is alive. She has business to finish. Her heart is burning.

She is furious.

If anyone falls, it will be you.

I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil!

This is her redemption. She has been dark for too long. Let her be light again.

He is her friend, her brother. She loves him dearly. He loves her. They are as close as kin.

He is afraid. He sees the elves and he sees danger. He sees pain. He is so, so tired. He needs her help.

She helps.

Strategy upon strategy. Fight after fight. The fight is not over.

There is a man with graying hair and a sad face. He is so, so tired. He wants it to end.

There tense, yet gentle face that she recognizes. Her warm, soft eyes are now cold, hard. She oozes of betrayal, and gazes at her with a sadness she feels too. Her hair is spun of soft grasses, colored like the reeds in river. But those reeds are streaked with gray. The hands that once held her so softly are shaking.

She cannot kill her. She refuses.

He smiles sadly, though he is relieved.

She throws aside her blade and extends her hand, Skyrim is at peace.

The world is not.

They march on the battlefield. She screams a speech to inspire men who do not need to fight. She knows they will not. She knows what she must do. She smiles, but she is crying.

She is clad in white, there is a smiling mask covering her face. Her hair is flowing in the wind like an angry banner. The wind is crying. She is crying. The world is crying. She does not want to do this, but she must.

She is so, so sorry. Everything is golden. Herself. She is glowing. She rises and the world rises with her. Her whole being is trembling with her own power. She will not be a savior; she will be a pariah. Everything is burning, she is screaming. She will not die. Her sight is blurry, her eyes are watering. She sees them all. Her light is terrible, terrifying. Her heart is screaming. The world is screaming. She lets it go.

There is a brilliant flash, and one million screams at once.

And the battlefield is silent. The world is silent.

Thousands of elven faces look up at her at once.

They all crumble to dust.

No one moves, the world holds its breath.

The war is over in one fell swoop. The enemy, everyone single one is dead. Her side is not. They are the victors, though they do not feel as if they have won.

She has never hated herself more.

The world wonders, was this worth it? Was it worth the cost? What have we done to ourselves?

She falls. The White Queen falls, and no one is there to catch her.

There is a paradigm shift, and men and mer unite.

"So who are you? What do you want?"

She has seen him before. His eyes are silver like hers, but he is no werewolf, and he is not family. She has healed him, saved him so many times. She knows him, he does not know her.

He is beautiful, he is so, so beautiful. His eyes are gorgeous and bely the emotion the churns in his hidden heart. His lips are full and shiny. His nose is angular and pointed. His cheekbones are high and sharp enough to cut. His head is shaved, his beard is not. He is small, but not fragile. He is loving and kind, yet brusque and callous. She wonders where she's seen this before. He is lovely.

His skin is dark and smooth. He looks like he was crafted from the Divines themselves. His arms are strong, his legs are shapely. His back is muscular and strong. His chest is chiselled and hard. He is gorgeous.

She is a lot like him. He is a lot like her.

She hates herself. He hates himself.

She sees herself when she looks at him.

He sees himself when he looks at her.

She hates him. He hates her.

There is a girl with glowing red eyes and cold skin. Her nose is soft, her eyes are too. Her skin is made of ivory, her hair spun of ebony. She is beautiful. She is dead, but alive. She loves the girl as if she is her own. The girl is sad and is in need of someone who understands. She understands. They are close. She hates the pain the girl has gone through. She will protect her with her dying breath.

She still hates him. He still hates her.

And then, it changes. She loves him, he loves her. There are no scars.

She loves him, he loves her, but they are not together. She is afraid of hurting him when she must face her fate, the fate she knows not of yet.

There is a bow that gleams the brightest gold. It shimmers in a sun. It fits in her hand as if it were made for her. Perhaps it was a long, long time ago.

Someone is screaming. Your own father! A voice shrieks. The girl is relieved, but she is crying. She wraps her arms around her and tells her that it will be alright, that she is loved. She remembers who spoke the same words to her a long, long time ago, and she smiles sadly. She is him to this girl.

The man crafted from the very Divines is there. He makes a show of kicking the ashes of whoever had died to make the girl laugh. He laughs too, and brandishes a sword at them mockingly.

She loves him so much.

She wants to kiss him. She wants to make love to him. She wants to court him. She wants to marry him.

She frowns.

She cannot have him.

She cannot hurt him by leaving him alone when he finally has her.

She cannot give him her love and take it all away when she must die.

For she can run from her fate no longer.

You may have picked up the weapons of my ancient foes, but you are not their equal!

There are glowing, red eyes burning through hers. There are black wings that blot out the sun above. There are sharp teeth that glint light blades. She has seen this before. She was afraid of it then, but she is afraid no longer. She is at peace.

Words ring in her head.

When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last

The Last n̡̧r̛͢҉o͠͝b͝ǹ̷͡o̶̢͢͏̷g͏a̸̶͢͟͢r̵̛d̶̕͝

The Last b̛́͝ó̸̵͟͟r̨̢n̵̶̡͡d̵̴̢̛҉r̵̡͜҉̀á̢̨̛g̛͏̧o̸ņ̶̷̢͢

The Final D̛̀͟Ŗ̀͞A̢҉G͏͜͠O͏̨N͠B̶̧̀͏O̴̷̡͟͟R̴̕̕͝N͡͏̵́͡

Her head is screaming. Her body is burning. She doesn't know why, she can't know why. It does not make sense, she cannot comprehend. She is screaming.

Ş̸͡T̶̸̶́͜O̷̢͢P̨̀͡͠ ̶̢S̡̧̕͢͡T̷̢͘O̸͜͡P͘҉̸́̀ ̧̢̨͞S̴҉̴́T̷̡́͜͜O̵P̷̶

It is bleed̴̡́͟͝į́n̵̵̶g̡̕͢ ̡̛a̕̕ń̶͟͡͠d̛͞͏ ̢͠҉b҉̶̷̶̧r̶̕ò͟͞҉k҉ȩ̶̛͜͠n̶̶͢҉. She has won. She toù͡c̶̨̕͠h̶̨̡e̵҉s̷͠ ̴͡į͠t͡҉'̢͜͝͞s̷͘͟ ͏͏͏͢ņ̵̢̛͘ǫ͜͠͞҉s̸̨̧͜͠è̕ ҉͢͞҉a͘̕͏n̵̛ḑ́͏̛ ̧̢́͡s̸̢͡à͡y͞͏́s̸̵̛͡ ̴́s̀͜o̵̴͜͟f̴̕͠tly,

I'm sorry.

Ņ̷̧̀͜O̴͡͏ ̶̛Ń͠O͏͜҉͜ ̴̨N̶̴̡̛͜O̡͠

It ì͠s̀̕͢ ͘͝͏a̢҉͢f̧̀͡͞͞r̀͘aid. It doe͏̡̛̀͠s̷̸̀ ͏̴̴͞n͘̕o̴͢t̕ ̶͡w̸͞a̶̢n̴̛ţ̴̀͝͏ ̶̸̷͜͟t̵̸o die.

N̵͠O̢̢͜T̡͟ ̶̷Y̵͟Ȩ̛̀T̨̀ ̶̀͡N̵͘O̴͡͡T́͡ ̡̡͡͝Y̷̶͘͠È̸̷͡T̵̛́͝ ̀̕͢N͢͏̸͘͞Ǫ͘͟T̷̕̕ ̨̕͞Y͏̕͜͠É̕̕͟͠T̸̶

There is a being before her. It's very existence is incomprehensible to her mind, for she is mortal and he is Divine. She knows who it is. She looks up at him and asks one question.

"Why? Why was it me?"

He says.

"Because you were someone worth saving."

He raises his hand and sends her crashing into the Throat of the World.
Á̷̢̨͝Ĺ͠҉́͟D͘͏̵Ư̕͜I̴̶͢N̶̢̨͜͢ ̴̴̡̀͝M̶͏̡̛͡A̛̕͏͟H̛́L̶̶͘A̧̡̧͠A̡͘͝Ņ̵

Her scream echoes to the deepest, darkest corners of Tamriel.

When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last-

Flynn sat bolt upright, and her head immediately swam. Her throat felt raw. She could not breathe. Her heart hammered away in her chest. She felt cold.

She was terrified.

Someone was pushing her back down.

"No, NO!" She screamed, clawing at their hands. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Flynnigan, calm down!"

She struggled harder and whoever was touching her and yelling was flung away from her. She hurled herself off of whatever she was laying on, and her palms slapped against the tiled floor. She was shaking and sweating. She needed to- she need to say something.

Someone grabbed her arm and hoisted her up. She suddenly felt tired. She could barely move. Her chest was burning. The world began to darken at the edges.

"She's going down, get a sedative!" Someone yelled.

Someone smoothed her hair back. Why wasn't it in a braid?

A gravelly but soft voice whispered soothingly. "Hey, shhh. You're not in danger, breathe."

She was not breathing. She sucked in a breath and coughed harshly. Strength returned. She whirled to see someone familiar, someone she knew but could not place. His hair was as dark as night, and his eyes were like jagged shards of ice. He was brilliant in his own special way. Someone handed something to him, and he put it to her lips and told her to drink. Fatigue washed over her like a wave. He, though smaller than her, lifted her into his arms and laid her on something soft but firm.

She was falling asleep, but she had to- she needed to say something. She needed to say it. He was walking away. She flung her hand out and grabbed his wrist in a vice-like grip. She looked into his startled eyes and with fading breath, she uttered,

"When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."

Her eyes fell closed, and she knew no more.

Kodlak closed the door to his quarters behind himself with as much quietness as he could muster. Hearing no activity in the living quarters, he retired to his bed and laid down, reveling in the softness of his mattress and feeling the tension in his old back leaking away. He sighed deeply and stared at the clay ceiling above him for a long period of time, lost in his thoughts. Flynnigan truly was a remarkable person. Despite the lack of time they'd spent together, he found she'd made a huge impression on him. He found himself worrying about her despite his lack of familiarity with her. He'd heard she'd been found in a near comatose state in the Bannered Mare and had been brought to the Temple of Kynareth four days ago, and though she was fine, she had yet to wake. Farkas mostly stuck by her side and only returned to Jorrvaskr when he had to sleep. Kodlak chuckled underneath his breath; Farkas was such a caring person.

He frowned once again. He had heard from Farkas that Flynnigan had been screaming and crying in her sleep sometimes, though. This did not bode well. He hoped she was alright.

Kodlak sighed. He was thinking to much about things he could not help. He needed to distract himself. Kodlak eased himself into a sitting position and fumbled on his night stand for ink, a quill, and his matches. He lit the candles on his night stand before he fumbled in the drawer inside of it, withdrawing his journal. Wiping stray dust off of it, he flipped open the well worn cover and flipped the ink-covered pages until he came upon the next blank one. Dipping his quill in his ink, he began to feverishly scratch away at the paper.

Fortune smiles upon us.

I was doing paperwork four or five days ago when Aela burst into my quarters with an uncharacteristic amount of excitement. She reported that the woman responsible for saving Vilkas and Farkas' very lives was currently at Jorrvaskr. In my fatigue due to my vast amount of paperwork, it took me a moment to collect myself. I scrambled to follow Aela and Skjor to the training yard to collect the twins when we heard laughter from the Skyforge. We ascended the steps to see a young Redguard woman chatting with Eorlund, the latter of which who looked almost unnervingly excited. My heart nearly leapt to my throat; it was the woman I had seen in the dream I've written about earlier except...she looks different. In my dream, she was crying. Her hair was a snowy white and cut short. This woman is no doubt her, and yet...her hair is long and black. I wonder what this could mean?

But, I digress. We went to thank her for her help regarding Farkas and Vilkas, and while she seemed to have no qualms about us speaking of Farkas, she silenced us when it came to Vilkas. It appears that for some reason she doesn't want Vilkas to know who she is. I feel it is unfair on the boy for him to be left in the dark, but I will respect her apparent wishes for now. To my surprise, she figured out rather quickly that we were werewolves. She doesn't appear to have any qualms about this either, and I feel that I can trust her to keep this secret, as foolish as this may sound to others.

Skjor and I brought her downstairs so we could thank her properly. There, she told us her name. Flynnigan, though she calls herself Flynn. The way she said it was odd; I don't believe that is her true name, but I'll leave it be for now. It's not my business for now. She told us a brief synopsis of her time in Skyrim and there is no doubt in my mind that she is an incredibly capable warrior. I am unsure how she will play into my fate, but I feel that she is someone important. Only time can tell.

Either way, I'm excited to see how she develops as a warrior of Jorrvaskr. She seems to have taken a huge liking to Farkas (By Talos, she's teaching the lad how to read!) and she's already decided to join us. I am worried about how she'll get along with Vilkas as they both seem to be as hot-blooded as they come, but I can tell she will at least be well-loved by everyone else. In fact, I was surprised to see how quickly Skjor has taken to her.

I do find myself rather concerned for her, though. She was found in a near comatose state four days ago, and has yet to wake. This alone is terrible, but what worries me most is that she is completely fine. Healer upon healer has come by, and they've found absolutely zero traces of poison in her. Farkas, the sweet boy he is, has barely left her side. I fear that if she doesn't wake soon, the poor boy might lay eggs! Other than that, I wonder what has her sleeping for so long...if it is sleep at all.

Moving on from Flynnigan, until we can pursue a true cure, the twins and I have chosen not to give in to the beastblood. For me, it's provided a clearer head, but Vilkas seems to be suffering a bit for it. Farkas seems completely untroubled. That boy continues to amaze with his fortitude.
In the meanwhile, I look for ways of cleansing my blood. The writings and legends on the subject are sparse and contradictory. I don't wish to engage any wizardry on this matter, but I fear they may be the only ones who best know how to navigate these worlds of knowledge.

Kodlak went to write more, but he was interrupted by the doors to his quarters slamming open. Frowning, he set aside his journal to see who had entered. And there stood Farkas, looking uncharacteristically afraid. His chest was heaving and he stared at Kodlak with mildly panicked eyes. It took five words to nearly stop Kodlak's heart. Though the words would sound vague to others, Kodlak knew exactly what Farkas meant by them.

"I think she's like you."